“Nicole,” Kira tries to hiss under her breath, her hand floating helplessly in the air, yet unable to knock down her sister’s boot. She must be too stunned.
Caleb, pinned between James and Nix, swallows and looks to me for help. Goddamn it. She’shisgirlfriend, but this dinner was my mistake.
Pushing my chair out from across Kira, I give myself room to kick my own feet up on the table. “Nah,” I sigh and clasp my hands behind my head, pretending to be at ease, “I think she’s got the right idea.”
Nix looks pissed for taking her thunder, but she’s being a stupid, petulant child, not a whole lot different from how I acted at her age. But I don’t think she could handle the punishment that James likes to hand down.
Kira is baffled, flicking her eyes between the two of us. It’s honestly cute seeing her offended by lack of etiquette, but again, I can’t enjoy it as James levels his stare on me.
Filled with disgust, his gaze gets darker and darker as it tracks up my shoes, my lack of slacks, to my bare arms, inked and on full display. They’re a trigger for him, and while I honestly forgot to don a long sleeve tonight in a weak hope of preventing a blowout, I’m glad I did. Hopefully, I bear the full brunt of his wrath, leaving Nix unscathed.
He lets out a derisive snort and then smooths his tie, taking a measured breath before turning to Kira, who looks like a deer in the headlights.
“Do you like such vandalism of the body?” he asks her.
Her mouth opens and closes, her brows furrowed, like she can’t tell if she wants to be angry or scared. I know the feeling well.
“Be honest, dear. When you take the stake of a man, do you find him respectable when he looks like a criminal?”
Kira doesn’t respond except for a faint exhale that betrays her discomfort. Her eyes dart toward me in uncertainty, but I can’t help her. If I give her even an inch, James will sniff it out.
But he doesn’t let her silence breathe anyway.
“No?” he presses, voice soft but saturated with venom. “Of course not. Because somewhere, deep in the recesses of every decent person, there’s an instinct that picks up on it. It’s psychology, and my son is sorely lacking in the education of it.”
He turns back to me, his gaze so full of feigned pity that it takes everything in me to appear nonchalant.
“Do you think that marking yourself up with prison art makes you interesting? That it gives you character?” He leans forward. “You think you’re making a statement, son? Because let me tell you what women of worth see. They see a convict, not a man with character, not a rebel, not an artist—a man who madebad choices and decided to advertise it.” He sneers and waves a hand before continuing. “You think tattoos earn you respect, but it’s a weak bid for real veneration.”
He leans back with a controlled breath, no doubt reigning in the outburst he wants to have, and the following silence is excruciating. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but being talked down to in front of Kira has my blood boiling. But it’s for her sake that I don’t talk back. And James loathes it. Not getting a rise out of me only serves to piss him off more, even though it’s an obedient dog that he wants. I take solace in that as I admire my tattoos, and let the silence eat at him.
Chapter Forty-One
Kira
Ithought I hated Jax, but I’m learning that hate is something else entirely. What I feel toward Jax is messy, confusing, and, sure, it has teeth, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what I feel toward his father. Hate doesn’t burn the way Jax burns, it makes you sick.
And that’s what I feel as I stare down at my bloody prime rib.
It’s too red, too wet. The blood pools on the white plate, turning my stomach. But I know it’s not really the meat that has bile creeping up my throat. I’ve cleaned vomit up from bathroom floors, seen grown men piss themselves in booths at Bell’s. This is nothing, would actually be appetizing any other time. This is Jax’s father making me want to shove my plate away.
The only reason I haven’t gotten up and told James to go fuck himself is because Jax hasn’t made a move to leave, and that scares me. If being spoken to like that by your own father doesn’t compel you to move, then why is that?
I eye Arnold, the hound of a man who shot Nellie, and the gun on his hip. I don’t want to look at him, but I feel the need to keep checking that he hasn’t moved. But every time I do, his eyes are already on me.
Sick. I’m sick as I push around gouda au gratin.
Never in my life have I felt so utterly helpless. I thought I dealt with the worst of the worst at Bell’s, but I’m out of my league here. And so is Nix, who, for some insane reason, keeps giving James dirty looks.
I should have told her that it wasn’t Jax that killed Nosy Nellie, but the unhinged bodyguard only five feet away. Maybe if she knew how callously he ended a life, she wouldn’t be being so stupid right now. I feel like if I even breathe wrong, I’ll annoy him, and he’ll take me out.
“Not hungry, dear?” James speaks, and I flinch.
“I…” I want to tell him to shove hisdearup his ass, but I give him a weak smile instead. “I think I’m still not feeling the best after my hospital stay.”
“Hospital stay?” He quirks a brow.
“Just a minor thing,” I say quickly, not wanting to have to speak to him or hold his attention.
